Sand, a sleepless night and a soup-tureen
by princegeorge
Summary: After the day spent at the seaside, Mr Carson has a restless night that makes him finally realise how he feels about Mrs Hughes. He decides to tell her, but many obstacles occur.


**Sand, a sleepless night and a soup-tureen. **

_Mr Carson has a restless night after the day spent at the seaside. What are his dreams telling him? _

**A/N I know, all last season and very long ago…but the images of the two of them on the beach are so lovely, I thought another fic about that wouldn't hurt? Hope you like it, x george **

o-o-o-o

After he had removed the sand from his outer clothes and shoes, Mr Carson had found even more sand in his undershirt. How was that possible? That awful stuff must be able to crawl everywhere. He checked behind his ear and his finger brought back sand. He scrubbed his eyebrows; sand fell down. Mr Carson checked the clock. It was past midnight and he hazarded a guess the younger men were already fast asleep after all their running around and playing football at the beach…

Right, so he had the opportunity to take a quick bath. His bed was very inviting but a quick wash or when it was possible, a bath usually did wonders for his sleep.

Mr Carson shook another pound of sand from his hair and entered the bathroom, as he had expected, the place was deserted so he filled the bathtub and enjoyed a short but refreshing hot soak, making sure every grain of sand was rinsed off his person.

Back in his room he dressed in a clean pair of pyjamas and climbed into bed. Feeling clean and scrubbed, he fell asleep immediately.

-o-

But it wasn't a peaceful and undisturbed sleep, like he used to have. Instead, images of the day spent at the seaside drifted by.

The quiet murmur of the waves on the beach, the sound of people laughing, playing football, splashing and paddling through the shallow waters. Mrs Patmore enjoying an ice cream and Daisy, looking pretty and very young in a pink dress. The warm sunshine, the blue sky and the rare sensation of having a whole day to spend at leisure. Mr and Mrs Bates walking arm in arm, like and old married couple. Mr Barrow sulking. Warm sand under his bare feet and blue eyes sparkling at him from under a lovely straw hat. A loving smile, playful banter.

With a start, Mr Carson woke up from his restless slumber, not knowing what had irked him.

He sat upright and had a drink of water from the glass on his nightstand. He checked his watch; two thirty. Then he thumped his pillow back in shape and fell asleep again.

There was the rustling of the waves again, augmented by the cheerful sound of laughter. The sudden cold sting of the water on his feet.

You can hold my hand.

Thoughts of dignity and propriety. A butler should not. Example to the younger staff. Impeccable behaviour.

I think I will hold your hand.

Once again Mr Carson sat upright, only this time he felt he knew what had bothered him in his dreams about the past day.

I think I will hold your hand, he had said. And he had done so, in full view of the other staff. He had taken her hand in his and it had felt so perfect, as if it had always meant to be that way. 'You can always hold my hand when you need to feel steady,' she'd said.

Heavens, how could he have been that blind?

He checked his watch again; almost four. Another two hours to sleep, and he crawled back under the covers. But he didn't fall asleep until after he had promised himself he'd speak his mind to Mrs Hughes tomorrow at the first opportunity.

-o-

'Good morning,' he greeted the staff in the servant's hall at breakfast.

They rose from their chairs. 'Good morning Mr Carson,' a choir sang. They sat down and he gave Mrs Hughes, as always on his right, a warm smile. Tea, toast and porridge. The bells began to chime, calling maids and valets and the daily amount of questions, small and bigger problems rained down on the housekeeper.

'Mrs Hughes I need to speak to you about the grocer's delivery. It's just not up to our standards!' Mrs Patmore shouted.

'Mrs Hughes, her ladyship would like to see you in the drawing room after lunch,' Miss Baxter reported.

'Mrs Hughes, the laundry maids complain they've been given the wrong soap,' Madge said.

'Mrs Hughes, would you please ask Mr Carson if I may have an hour off Thursday afternoon? He'll probably allow it when you ask him,' Edward whispered.

'Mrs Hughes, may I have a word with you, if you can spare a moment?' Mr Carson asked.

'Of course you may Mr Carson,' she said. 'In Mrs Butte's sitting room, say, around noon?'

'That would be fine.'

-o-

Around noon all questions were answered and all problems solved, and she was in the sitting room working on a letter for the grocer, when Mr Cason entered after a short knock.

'Mr Carson,' she smiled and turned around in her chair. 'Do sit down.'

She poured him a cup of tea and brought it over. 'I have to thank you for the lovely outing we had yesterday,' she said. 'I have enjoyed it very much and I'm sure everyone else did, too.'

'Oh, yes, I think so as well, they all thanked me this morning, even Mr Barrow. I have to admit though, I've had a little help in deciding where to go,' he answered.

She raised an eyebrow. 'Did you?'

'Yes I did, and I can think of only one person who's bold enough to put a postcard on my message board, and clever enough to put it on my eye level, even if it's well above her own,' he said, giving her a knowing smile. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' she said. 'I feel a bit sorry for you though Mr Carson. I know how much you'd loved to show them the Crystal palace or Westminster Abbey.'

'I would have loved that yes, but I'm glad you nudged me in the right direction, Mrs Hughes. Her ladyship had meant it to be a treat for the staff after all, and me dragging them through the British Museum was clearly not everyone's idea of a treat.'

'Perhaps we can go there together one day,' Mrs Hughes said warmly, ' certainly you should have your treat as well.'

'Oh but I've had a lovely day yesterday, Mrs Hughes, he hasted to assure her. 'Much more than I'd expected I have to say. In fact, I…'

He was cut off by the sound of china falling on a stone floor, followed by Mrs Patmore's shrieking.

'What in…' he muttered and they both were on their feet and in the corridor in a second.

The sight that greeted them was the stuff of Mr Carson's nightmares.

Sprawled on the floor lay James and the youngest hall boy, who had seemed to bump into each other while James was carrying the soup-tureen to the kitchen.

He turned red and inhaled deeply to start a tirade, but Mrs Hughes gently tugged his sleeve.

'Leave it for now, Mrs Patmore is all over them already and there's nothing to be done about it,' she whispered urgently. 'Give them a scolding when you've calmed down.'

He glared at her and opened his mouth to ask her to mind her own business, thank you very much, but she whispered: 'It will be much more impressive that way.' Her eyes pierced his, willing him to listen to her and he had to admit she was right. So he nodded shortly, she gave him a warm smile, squeezed his arm and then went over to the crime scene.

'Mrs Patmore, calm down a bit please, half the town can hear you. James, Arthur, are you all right? No injuries? Good, please get up then and clean up the mess, and you will report to Mr Carson right after lunch. Mr Barrow, would you mind getting another tureen and see that the soup is served? Thank you.'

And with that the storm had laid down. Mrs Patmore went back to the kitchen, muttering under her breath about clumsy boys and meddlesome housekeepers, and the two culprits started to clean away the shards.

Mrs Hughes followed the cook to sooth the ruffled feathers some more and Mr Carson found himself watching the scene with a soppy smile on his face, before returning to the butler's pantry.

For the umpteenth time she had saved him from making a fool of himself.

And every time I love her more, he thought to himself. Yes, that's right, I love her. Say it out loud Carson, you old goat.

'I love you Mrs Hughes,' he whispered.

Somehow that didn't sound correct.

'I love you, Elsie.'

Much better.

'I love you, Elsie,' he repeated and found it was something he liked saying very much.

Now if only he could find the opportunity to say it to her.

-o-

After Mr Carson had given the boys a solemn lecture about proper behaviour in corridors and the value of the tureen they had destroyed as a result of their running around so carelessly, to which they had listened with red cheeks and bended heads, he went to see the housekeeper and could not find her.

'Have you seen Mrs Hughes, Anna?'

'Yes Mr Carson, she is in the drawing room with her ladyship.'

'Ah, of course. Thank you.'

The meeting about the household, the dinners planned and guests staying over. And probably about the soup-tureen, he suspected.

Well, it was certainly no use to loiter about in the corridor until she returned, he decided. Enough work to do. So he went into the silver cabinet and started polishing, a useful job that gave his thoughts the opportunity to wander. He knew he couldn't keep his mind at his ledgers now, even if he wanted to.

Humming a song from his dancing days, he set to work. The London household had some beautiful antique pieces and he admired them while treating them with utmost care, cringing at the thought of James or Arthur handling them. That made him think of Mrs Hughes. Like most things had made him think of Mrs Hughes lately, he mused.

A chestnut found in the park; the same colour as her hair. A pretty shawl he saw in a shop-window, that would look lovely on her. Passing the bookshop; he knew she loved reading as much as he did. Daisies even, since he'd read that in some foreign language the tiny flowers were known as Kisses from May. Her birthday was in May.

It had taken a day at the beach to make him finally realise all that.

-o-

The silver was benefitting from his musings; never before had it shone as pretty as it did today. During his work he had prepared a beautiful and eloquent declaration of love, she deserved nothing less. Happy with the results of his work Mr Carson carefully put the items back into place, and when he closed the closet door he heard Mrs Hughes approach. He'd recognise the sound of her heels and the jingling of the keys on her hip anywhere.

He slipped out of the cabinet but before he could speak to her, James called him.

'Mr Carson, Mr Dean is here with the wine delivery, he needs you to check it!'

Damn and blast, he thought very undignified. But he had no choice but to go and see the wine merchant.

Dinner downstairs was a hurried affair, because the Family were entertaining eight guests this evening and every pair of hands was needed. It was past ten when he was able to invite Mrs Hughes for a glass of wine in his office.

'I'd love to, Mr Carson. Just let me finish tomorrow's chores, I need to make changes now that we suddenly have two more guest rooms occupied. I'll only be a minute!'

'Very well,' Mr Carson said. In his office he polished the glasses and in his head rehearsed his declaration once again.

It did really only take a minute before she knocked at his door and opened it.

He felt a smile slid on his face and turned around to welcome her in.

'Good evening Mrs Hughes, I…'

'Oh Mrs Hughes!' a panicked voice from the corridor cut him off.

'What is it, Madge?' she said. Was it his imagination or did she sound a bit irritated?

'You have to come and help us Mrs Hughes! Lord Grantham's dog has kicked over the gravy boat and there's a big stain on the dining room carpet! We don't know what to do!'

'All right, I'll come with you,' she said. But before she left, she gave him a helpless smile. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'I'll wait,' he whispered back.

So he waited and it was close to eleven when she finally returned.

'I'm so sorry.'

'Don't be, please. Have you managed to clean the stain?'

'I believe we did, yes. But it wasn't Lord Grantham's dog, she was in the drawing room with him, it was Lady Frobisher's dog. And Lady Frobisher has admitted her little Bouboule is ever so naughty and has offered to pay for any damage.'

'Is it that little white dog that looks like a fluffy pillow? I saw Mr Barrow kicking it this evening, after it had attacked his trouser leg.'

'I guess Mr Barrow was the first one to discipline the wee monster.'

They laughed together.

'Do you still want to share a glass of wine with me? It's late and we have a busy day ahead,' he asked gently.

'I believe a glass of wine will help us both to wind down. I am very tired,' she suppressed a yawn, 'but I'd love to spend some time with you before I turn in, if you don't mind Mr Carson.'

'No, no. Not at all. In fact, there's something I wanted to discuss with you and I'm glad we finally have the opportunity, even if it's late, we are at least alone. The fact is, Mrs Hughes, I have come to realise that…'

They both jumped when the telephone on his desk rang.

'Mr Carson? Clarkson from Downton here! I'm glad I caught you at this late hour! Could you please inform his Lordship that the Dowager Countess has been taken ill? It's a serious case of pneumonia and at her age one never knows. Mrs Crawley is taking care of her, but I think his Lordship should know.'

'Do you think it necessary for the family to return to Downton?' Mr Carson asked.

'At the moment, no. But they should know anything can happen.'

'I will inform them Dr Clarkson, thank you for calling us.'

He put the receiver down and smiled at the housekeeper.

'Another hindrance,' he said. 'It's almost midnight and I intended to tell you this very day what I have learned about myself since our day at the seaside. I have prepared a declaration, but there's no time for that now, so…'

He cleared his throat.

'Ahem, so I have to restrict myself to the key phrase.'

'Please go ahead, Mr Carson,' she smiled.

'Ah yes. Yes, I am getting to the point. May I be very frank?'

'Yes, please.'

'I love you, Mrs Hughes. Elsie.'

He had said it! Only not quite right though, he mused.

'I love you Elsie, my dearest.'

That was it, saying that felt absolutely wonderful.

He looked at her and saw the loveliest smile and even more stars in her eyes as he had seen that moment at the beach, when she had told him he could always hold her hand when he needed to feel steady.

'I love you too Charles,' she whispered. She got up from her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. He smiled at her, stroke her hair, her cheek, her shoulders, slid his arms around her waist and bend down to kiss her.

'My Elsie,' he breathed in her ear and she moaned,' That tickles…but it's so sweet, never stop doing that Charles.' He chuckled, abandoned her ear and kissed her lovely lips again. She pulled him closer and returned the kiss with a fire that at first surprised him, but then he realised this was his Elsie, his fiery woman.

The clock chimed midnight.

-o-

_**THE END**_

**A/N Please tell me what you think! I love and cherish every read and review…x george**


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